Better pull up your black man, and warn him to keep away."
Colonel Spottiswoode laughed. "That's a kitchen, isn't it? Those are cook women? You might as well order a fly to keep away from the molasses."
Lyttleton shrugged his shoulders. "He'll get into the deuce of a muss." The white men moved back to their chairs, and fell silent as they watched the river slipping by, which left Old Reliable in peace amongst the ladies of the Sultan's harem.
Zack could not talk to the woman—the youngest woman with the smile. He could only drape his legs over a sack of onions and grin. Neither could the women talk to him, but it just fell in Zack's mind that she wanted to. "Dar now!" he chuckled; "ef I can't talk an' she can't talk back, us sho' ain't gwine to fuss an' fall out."
Although laboring under these dumb disadvantages, Old Reliable had a winning way with cook ladies, and a rabbit-foot for making himself welcome in anybody's kitchen. The youngest woman nodded her head, parted her lips, and showed very white teeth, swaying back and forth as she ground the dhurra corn, her muscles slip ping beneath the glistening skin of her back. Zack viewed the entire operation; there were few mysteries about this cook-lady, who wore nothing whatever above her waist, except a dazzle of
